


Towards Better Things

by bluegrass



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Adorable Sawada Tsunayoshi, Alternate Universe - Wings, BAMF Sawada Tsunayoshi, Disciplinary Committee Sawada Tsunayoshi, Families of Choice, Family Fluff, Gen, No Angst, Protective guardians, Self-Indulgent, Wingfic, like really little
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2020-08-13 03:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20167189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegrass/pseuds/bluegrass
Summary: Ever since he was young, Tsuna had only known (though not necessarily personally) some handfuls of people that didn’t have wings like him.





	1. First Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This was like... a shower idea. 
> 
> Longer chaps in the future (probs).

Ever since he was young, Tsuna had only known (not necessarily personally) some handfuls of people that didn’t have wings like him. To start off, his own father and the old man that visited he and Mama years ago. Kawahira-san next. Then Yamamoto’s father who owned the best sushi restaurant in Namimori Town. On top of that, quite a few folks in a few of Namimori Town’s less prominent, though rowdier because of it, areas where the Hibari Family didn’t cover as often. 

Speaking of which, the Wingless-ness was particularly prominent in the terrifying family. As an unsaid rule - those who disobeyed never really spoke again so it’s kind of by default really - everyone knew better than to give them bad words for.

Strangely enough, Hibari Kyouya possessed wings unlike his parents and a majority of their subordinates. They were a beautiful pair, belonging to that of the Japanese Skylark.

Sleek primaries and secondaries and everything else from then on out. Every single feather was outlined unimaginable artiscally, in Tsuna’s opinion. Like someone had specifically taken a the smoothest wheat coloured crayon to outline them first, later filling them in with shades of brown water-paint that grew darker at every layer like how Tsuna was taught in art class at school. 

He loved their shape too. Sharp at the edges, yet made to look like a butterfly’s wing. Tsuna could spend hours just studying at Kyo-san’s silky wings, reverently tracing every individual feather including the few remains of wispy fledgling fluff.

Unfortunately, school lunch breaks weren’t ever long enough to relieve his sense of wonder whenever he saw them up close or in use. The older boy never seemed to mind, napping on the roof with his wings spread wide for the world to see. 

One day, he’d find the chance to ask the prefect if he could maybe properly preen him. Perfection was a word Tsuna would happily use on Kyo-san’s wings, without a doubt, but due to all the fights he got himself into, the younger boy had already seen one or two interlocked feathers around. 

They haven’t reached that stage though. Curious, considering how letting Tsuna come close to his wings at such a vulnerable state (wide open at a hundred percent - it’s common knowledge that the gift of flight comes with the price of fragility) in the first place. 

Tsuna stretches, the muscles from his torso and up trembling slightly. “See you later, Kyo-san.” 

Kyouya doesn’t say anything. He never really does. Tsuna laughs when he sees him turn over though, setting his wings free from the weight and soon fluffing them. It’s like a bye and Tsuna takes it happily, practically bouncing during his way back to class which quiets instantly upon his arrival. 

Tsuna feels like a spectacle. The only one in the entire school without wings. Wingless-ness wasn’t impossible, but the voices of the majority painted it as bad as it could. In old religion, to have no wings meant to have denounced the name of the Goddess that gave it to them. 

Not even Yamamoto Takeshi’s trademark smile can seem to split the mounting tension. Wingless adults aren’t made fun of by kids because of their age, a clear line drawn in their compartments of what’s okay and what’s not. Tsuna has no such privilege. 

When the jeers start, Tsuna sees how Sasagawa Kyoko flinches, the roots of her Red Turtle Dove wings bristling in agitation through the triangle open back of the school’s uniform. The 8 year old sighs, feet dragging and pretending he can’t feel Yamamoto-kun’s particularly intense stare. Tsuna wants to go back to Kyo-san as soon as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a Kudos and comment if you liked it!


	2. Second Thing

This was a world built on dreams, gently cradled out from the minds of Gods and Goddesses alike. According to a scripture as old as time, Earth was born last in an endless universe. The planet was just as beautiful as the homes of their omniscient parents and its inhabitants just as unrivalled in their potential to be good and great. 

Humanity had been little better than the average animal once life started to thrive on Earth. They had slouched backs, gangly limbs, weak claws, protruding mouths and perhaps with brains with a little more wrinkles than some others. Compared to those like them, however, they were still far weaker and vulnerable. 

A moment of compassion was all it took. One Goddess had found it in herself to pity these weak creatures, and so she had looked upon them, claiming: “I will bless these poor pathetic things. Their kind will not die until their brains have taken the size of my fist and with as many wrinkles on my face!” 

(No one save the other Gods and Goddesses knew this, but to be fair, she had been drunk – downright shit-faced – off of ambrosia during the celebration of a new millennia.)

Nevertheless, then had begun to thrive. With the newly given blessing, they were fortunate to survive the wild long enough for the unfortunate and weak to be weeded out. Even when things got tough in drowning rains or moving earths, a group of survivors would always reign to produce the next batch of children.

Despite keeping their vulnerability, the weak creatures eventually evolved to grow smarter, their bodies unlike any other animal’s. They walked upright, had five dexterous fingers that could throw and grip and catch. Their faces started to tuck in, forming some semblance of beauty; appearances similar to that of Heaven’s residents but without the extra eyes, appendages or all powerful abilities.

Most importantly, was their intelligence to be capable of moral reasoning, invention, the wondrous discovery of self-awareness. The conscious mind that bloomed gardens of creative thought that no divinity could control. Humans were as free as they came and although the Gods and Goddesses were initially weary, they eventually learned to love the beings that they could see to something akin to an equal.

So enchanted were these divine beings with humanity, that they gave blessed wings to their kind in the image of Angels, the First Children of Heaven. Thus, having humanity be born a new.

But that was when the story went wrong. Scripture… wasn’t everything. Kawahira sighed in the privacy of his room, gazing upon the moon from a window’s edge. Was he wrong to have placed blind trust and loyalty in his sister when she said everything would be alright? 

_ ‘Most importantly, was their intelligence to be capable of moral reasoning, invention, the wondrous discovery of self-awareness. The conscious mind that bloomed gardens of creative thought that no divinity could control. Humans were as free as they came and the Gods and Goddesses were weary. They learned to experience anger towards the beings that were covetous by nature.’ _

For seven-hundred and seventy-seven days, every single man, woman, and child ceased to keep awake. Their bodies could be seen littered carelessly on the ground, floating above water, and slumped across a tree’s branch as thick as a torso. Something was changing down to the very last cell. It was well known that no one had been exempt from the Great Sleep. 

When they finally opened their eyes, the people felt an ache that wouldn’t stop no matter how hard they tried. _ We’re empty, we’re empty, _hundreds upon thousands mourned. And by the first week, clogged with that thought alone, many lost their minds in search of a relief to their souls. 

_ Let us fly, let us fly. Let us find our way. _

In places near mountainous valleys, it was a common sight to go ‘climbing’. Those who couldn’t bear the weight of their hollow bones would practically drag themselves of a high cliff hanging by a deep chasm of any kind. Jumping with spread arms, a certain Goddess watched on worried. 

She who idled daily by watching the humans evolve from the start had grown attached; as such, the Goddess convinced her brother to descend on earth to help soothe the ache of these mortals that she now saw as her own.

It was unjust that these sentient, emotional beings would be punished for something they had no hand in. _ They are a lot like us, aren’t they? So why can’t the others be kind, understanding, compassionate? _The Goddess felt rather solemn when she considered what to do with the growing seed of indignation for people she’d only watched from afar. 

“I will give you wings,” She said. “You may fly wherever you wish to go, whenever. But remember me as you take yourself beyond the mountains and endless seas, across the desert’s horizon. When you rest on the branches of trees that reach the skies. Spread your gifts and let the winds carry you to what you seek.”

Her children cheered, praising her name: **“SEPIRA! SEPIRA! SEPIRA!” **

She was called: The Blessed Goddess Sepira, _Giver of Flight_. And the people had cried with joy while spreading great limbs of flight from their backs: leaping, they’ll fall no more from this day onwards. She was their Goddess as they were her responsibility now. No Divine shall interfere with the ones she’d claimed as her own.

Yet even though humanity was now born with wings of all shapes, sizes, patterns, and colours, there were still some that didn’t have their wings. Or had dropped them along the way. Ostracized and belittled, the Wingless were rare but not outrageously so. Tsunayoshi has never had wings all his life. His father as well, and his father before him. 

Mama had wings, though. Nothing too colourful like the Hyacinth Macaws or the Mute Swans who were beautiful in their simplicity. Mama had a White-cheeked Starlings, a dark chocolate brown that shone dull white along the sides of her primary feathers. 

“Don’t you know, Tsunayoshi-kun? While Elements may drop their wings, Skies are born without them. It is her curse. Between you and I, the Arcobaleno Pacifiers weren’t the only things Elira left for her little brother and the world.”

The young brunet bit the inside of his cheek and swung his legs from the high stool Kawahira-san pulled out for him. “Why?” he asked, like he wanted to know _ why _ the sky is blue or why they simply couldn’t _ bring back _ the cat mothering six kittens in an alleyway. The question was blunt, curious, yet somehow caring and uncaring altogether.

Kawahira lifted his chopsticks to his lips, answering before taking a mouthful of ramen. “Well, let’s make that a story for another time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent like, a solid 15 minutes staring into space thinking about this work cause I kind of know what I want to do but at the same time not really with this thing. (-_-")


	3. Third Thing

Because he was without wings, Tsuna had always loved to fly. 

For he could not take to the skies, Tsuna made due by exploring every tree and crevice of quiet Namimori, where even the sleepless may find slumber. Tsuna had climbed every tree planted within the town’s neat confines and jumped over every fence, every gap between rooftops, and every concrete that cages crystal clear waters of drains wide and narrow. There was no corner he hadn’t already turned, or bush he’d never crawled under. 

The boundaries between land and sky wouldn’t stop him from growing invisible wings that signified freedom. His feathers were imprints of shadow, dropped carelessly in the form of footprints during the throes of winter. 

Tsuna’s invisible wings were how he’d met Hibari Kyouya for the first time.

The Hibari’s nest was old news, and alongside the odd conversations floating with admiration and fear in equal parts, how the fledgling there flew alone and unafraid. From clutch to clutch, only one child would be brought forth during spring.

The family wasn’t known for large wings with a songbird's feathers, but compact wings with sleek feathers; in dull colour and flourish and size, they made up with bloodlust and instincts, wilder than any bird of prey could ever achieve.

Tsuna held interest for anything wild - adventurous as he's been since infancy. And initially, he would’ve taken a peek and left, but Tsuna stayed because the Hibari were known for another thing more fascinating and dangerous: the family was known for their tendency to drop their wings before adulthood or on the cusp of it.

There simply wasn’t any explanation he knew of to understand this phenomena, so Sawada Tsunayoshi, young and curious and wingless, ventured towards the roof lunch break, a bento box wrapped in an orange cloth on one hand. There, where a chilly breeze of wind kissed his cheeks pink, Kyouya laid asleep.

The right way to approach a Hibari without provoking a fight was to flare one’s wings in an act of submission. Reveal the most vulnerable, most valued parts of their person. The Hibari would be expected to pry out a click from the back of their throats. _I see you,_ it said. _I will not eat you alive._ Wingless, Tsuna was physically incapable of performing basic etiquette, and simply tackled the body where it stood. A soft voice in his head held weirdly solid instructions.

_We’ll capture the clouds today._

_Bring a weapon, something dull._

_The only Sky he shall fly in will be ours._

Tsuna’s not been the same since his father and the old man visited. He had tripped and bruised and bled, on some occasions. He could hardly think right, either, mind unable to comprehend concepts in maths or science. That was until he met Kawahira-san in his ramen stand that appeared only when Kawahira-san wanted it to.

Tsuna had helped himself on a stool without a care in the world. What had he to worry about anyway? When his padded nose was half a millimetre to the right because he’d tripped down the stairs and landed face first. Tsuna was seven and _miserable_ even if he couldn’t read or write kanji for the word yet. Kawahira was surprised at first, hands jerking as soup spilled over the bowl’s edge.

The Sky’s flame was sealed but flickering weakly through a tight crack still, on its last light in which it used to bring Tsuna here.

Cruel amusement flashed past his kind face, replaced by apathy. Tsuna knew, somehow, and pretended not to. Kawahira mustered a genuine-looking smile for the boy easily. Tilting his head to the side innocently, silver hair tickling past his chin. “Here for a meal?”

“I’m Tsuna,” he said, voice nasal and pleading. “Please help me.”

“And how may I do that, Tsuna-kun?”

“I- I think you can end it. The cold. I know you can. P-please, I…”

Something unreadable twinkled in the man’s eyes. “Would you sit by my side to have some ramen every week if I ask?”

There was an almost inaudible chime of a bell. An imitation of an alert of customers visiting the quaint little ramen place. Tsuna’s gaze flitted behind himself for a moment, finding no one. His body rested on the counter, chair taller than he remembered. Though it was strange… that Tsuna couldn’t remember how he climbed such a tall stool in the first place.

He nodded strongly after meeting the man’s gaze once more. “If you want. What’s your name…?”

“Kawahira, please. I recommend the Shoyu Pork Ramen.”

“Thank you, Kawahira-san.” And then Tsuna started to talk about his day, the people he met, leaving out the parts where they laughed and jeered at him for being without wings. He had a feeling the man needed the company. For some reason, Tsuna also avoided talking about the weather or sky in any form.

Hibari Kyouya woke up with a strong jerk, whipping up some wind when he escaped the blow, shedding fledgling feathers like a cat during summer. It was moulting season, after all. The resounding clang on the space where his head was rung between his ears.

Were he a second slower, the butter knife clattering on the tiles would’ve been stabbed painfully through his face. Kyouya raised his tonfas, quickly taking in the… creature who he'd not heard approach his personal territory. His attention surged at the little animal – not an herbivore, expression too kind to be a carnivore – who smiled amicably.

The shining butter knife seemed comfortable in his grip.

“Sorry for disturbing your rest, Hibari-senpai.”

“Sawada,” _Tsunayoshi._ Quiet, meek, and wing-less. Yet he’d attacked decisively and Kyouya growled after sensing no fear. He bared his canines too, wings pulled together defensively. “What is the meaning of this? The rooftop is forbidden against students.”

“Won’t you spar with me, please? And if I land a hit on you, could I touch your wings?”

Kyouya would laugh if he weren’t irritated after an interrupted nap. They fought anyway, an orange-wrapped lunchbox discarded to the side. It was messy and thoughtless and unpractised, but unnaturally coordinated on Sawada’s part. At the end, the little animal had managed to grab a handful of loose fluff right on the back of Kyouya’s wings and Tsuna _pulled._

The Hibari groaned. Out of what, he couldn’t tell. But he was no herbivore and kept enough of his mind to cleverly twist his body in a whirl of action so that his tonfa could land right into Sawada’s chest, leaving the younger boy wheezing and on his knees while Kyouya put some distance between them.

The battleground is scattered with light shades of brown.

Tsuna warbles an indelicate sneeze.

Kyouya smirks, and_ displays his wings._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao this isn't dead yet. 
> 
> Stay safe and strong and kind, everyone. Leave a Kudos and comment if you enjoyed this!


End file.
